


Another Safe House Christmas

by agent2362



Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent2362/pseuds/agent2362
Summary: A story of Zach and Cammie's attempt to have a quiet Christmas.
Relationships: Rebecca Baxter/Grant, Zachary Goode/Cameron Morgan
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

“Good morning, Gallagher Girl.” He greets with a gentle kiss on my cheek and I can feel the smile filling up his face as his lips struggle to stay puckered together.  
“What are you so happy about?” I grumble as I turn over and pull the covers closer under my chin.  
“Oh, I don’t know, a few days off in a remote location with my favorite spy.” His smile growing wider with every word.  
“Is that your covert way of telling me that we’re spending Christmas at Joe’s safe house in the woods?” I ask as I turn over and raise my eyebrows far up into my forehead.  
“Yes, but remote location sounds far more romantic than safe house.” He defends.  
“Right, why don’t you get back to me when you have to spend your vacation at another safe house?”  
“Come on Cammie, it’s just until they figure out where the threat is coming from, plus your mom and Joe will both be there.”  
I groan again, but this time it’s more out of contrariness than actual annoyance, “You’re right.”  
“I know.” He replies with his classic smirk.  
I throw a pillow at his smug face and then push back the covers, exposing my body to the cold world. I grab my sweater from the foot of our bed and wrap it around myself as I pad over to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee, picked up from our last mission in Italy.  
“Who’s on the detail this morning?” I ask as I take a sip.  
Zach finishes tightening the covers on the bed, until it has perfect hospital corners reminding me that he attended a school for military trained assassins, “Grant and Jonas.”  
I nod and take another sip, “They won’t be stuck with us over Christmas though, right?”  
“No, once we reach the safe house security will fall to Joe’s guys.”  
I sigh gratefully, “Good, I think Bex would kill me if Grant wasn’t coming to see her.”  
“She would also kill Grant if you get kidnapped or killed on his watch, so be nice.” Zach implores.  
“I’m always nice.” I defend, with a tight smile.  
“Sure you are, Gallagher Girl.” Zach confirms with a swift nod. “We’re leaving in 20, so as much as I enjoy your pajamas, you might want to change into something more practical.”  
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off as I head into the bathroom and switch on the shower, slowly pealing off my pajamas, trying not to catch my reflection in the mirror and the red scar that runs across my left shoulder. I fail at this task and find myself staring at it, remembering the hands on me, the knife sharp as it dug into my flesh, sending fire down my arm and back, then relief as the hands fell away and the loud, hollow thud of a body on concrete. Then it’s Zach’s face peering into mine with concern as he unties my hands and gathers me up into his arms.  
I hear a knock on the door and shake my head to clear away the memory, “Everything okay in there?” Zach asks.  
“Yes, fine.” I reply making the words sound like a smile rather than the grimace I feel emerging from deep within my bones.  
I quickly step into the shower and scrub the memories away with my soap soaked loufa, ignoring the burning that comes from my vigorous scouring of my scar.  
I towel off my hair and leave my face free of makeup, grabbing my to-go makeup bag that Macey gave me so I can apply it on the ride to the airport.  
I throw on my favorite, most comfortable jeans and a v-neck tee that I layer with a boyfriend sweater and a large scarf that can double as a blanket on the flight to Virginia.  
As I step back into the living area I find my duffel bag sitting next to Zach’s by the door and I unzip it to throw a few last necessities in.  
“Ready?” Zach asks with jangle of his keys.  
“Ready.” I confirm as I toss a few briefing folders into my cognac leather tote and give Zach a quick appreciate kiss on the cheek hoping it makes up for my surly mood earlier today.  
“No, put those back.” He orders with a punctuated point at my tote.  
“It’s just some light reading for the plane, don’t worry about it.” I brush off his adamant glare.  
“No, this is vacation, you are not bringing any work along.” He argues.  
“I just need to catch up on some field notes, I promise I won’t work on it after we land. Please, Zach. It will help me take my mind off it.” I gesture vaguely at the air.  
“Fine.” Zach concedes, his lips in a grim line, “But I’m confiscating them as soon as we get to Virginia.”  
“Alright, but, we both know you’re bringing work along in the form of three handguns.” I retort.  
“Oh, that’s not work Gallagher Girl, that’s fun.” He flashes me a bright grin as he grabs our bags in both hands and heads toward the door.  
I open the door for him, “That’s exactly what a trained assassin would say.”  
“Guilty.” He yells as he walks down the hall.  
I find Grant standing as inconspicuously as possible outside our door as I lock the door and turn the deadbolt, “Hey, Grant.”  
“Hey, Cammie. How are you?”  
“Oh, fine. How about yourself?” I ask.  
“Excited to see Bex.” He says with a massive grin that doesn’t suit his usually serious features.  
I nod and smile in return as I start heading down the hallway, his shadow following me closely.  
As we reach the car, I find Zach and Jonas joking by the open trunk as Zach tosses our duffels inside.  
I wave at Jonas, and before I can take another breath I’m hurtling towards the ground and pinned beneath a much larger body than my own, gasping for air and wondering how I ended up here.


	2. Chapter 2

My face grinds into the asphalt as I struggle against the weight that lays against me, my heartbeat filling my ears and muffling the world around me. A shot pierces the haze that fills my mind, reality floods back in and I rapidly move my arms into position to elbow my assailant in the stomach and nose, respectively. Unfortunately, just as I send my elbow into their stomach, they quickly counter, wrapping the wrist that was headed for their nose in a vice grip. Then, it’s a voice I recognize pleading my name, “Cammie, please, stop fighting.”  
I feel the world freeze for a brief moment as I recognize Grant’s voice and find myself face to face with an open-eyed corpse, who resembles your textbook mercenary.  
I do as Grant has asked and let my body go limp, no longer letting the adrenaline of being kidnapped or killed dictate my actions. I keep staring at the body, though, wondering what would have happened if Grant hadn’t tackled me to the ground. I wonder if the bullets would have found their way into my abdomen and heart instead of the building behind me.  
“The area’s secure!” I hear Zach call out and instantly the weight over my body disappears and I push myself up from the ground ignoring the stinging gravel that is digging itself into my palms.  
“Cammie are you ok?” Zach asks as he covers the distance between us in two easy strides.  
I nod as I smooth my shirt and readjust my scarf, “Certainly better than that guy.” I reassure with a gesture in the direction of the body that lays sprawled across the street.  
He flashes a quick smile at my weak joke, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  
“Are you ok?” I ask, realizing that guy’s bullets could have easily missed me and hit Zach.  
“I’m fine,” Zach confirms as he picks pieces of gravel from my cheek with deft and practiced fingers.  
“Cammie, Zach, let’s get you in the car.” Grant prompts.  
Zach nods as he grabs my hand and pulls me swiftly towards the dark SUV.  
Jonas has opened the back-passenger door and I scramble inside, Zach following behind me. Before I can even click my seatbelt into place, Grant has taken the wheel and we are roaring down the street. A small part of me hopes we’re still on our way to the airport, but the more realistic part of me knows we are actually headed to a debriefing in some sub-level interrogation room with hard metal chairs, cold thermostat settings, and endless waiting.   
I reach out to grab Zach’s hand in mine and find them cold as ice, I look up to his face, discovering his jaw clenched tight. While I may be a fully trained covert operative, sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake – someone had to shoot that mercenary and I happen to be holding hands with him. And while he may be a fully trained assassin, that doesn’t make taking the life of another person any easier. I lean in closer, resting my head against his shoulder hoping he can feel my breathing, the heart that races within me. I urge my breathing body to cast out the shadows that cloud his mind, because sometimes, a reminder of life is the only remedy for death.


	3. Chapter 3

A brisk knock at the door stops my pacing in its tracks. I find myself standing at attention as familiar blue eyes greet my own, “Agent Townsend, or should I call you Uncle Edward?”  
He grimaces, “Agent Townsend will be fine.”  
“Whatever you say, Uncle Eddie,” I tease.  
“Miss Morgan.” He warns as he drops a heavy file on the metal table.  
I throw my hands up in mock surrender and plop myself down into the chair across from him, “Where’s Zach?”  
“In a debriefing of his own.” Agent Townsend replies disinterestedly as he flips through the file placed before him. This simple gesture sends me back to a room, not unlike this one, the same eyes staring me down as I attempted to defend my favorite teacher.  
I shake my head to clear the reverie, “When can I see him?” I pester.  
“When we’re finished chatting.” He answers through clenched teeth.  
I sigh and lean back in my chair, “What do you want to know?”  
“This file is a catalog of threats against you, Miss Morgan.”  
I feel my mouth open slightly at this revelation, “Really?” I ask earnestly, “That’s a bit thick for your average intelligence officer?” I gesture at the file that sits between us.  
“Right, but you, Miss Morgan, are not the average intelligence officer.”  
“Average is overrated, right?” I attempt some light humor.  
“Not in this case, it's reached the point where there have been talks of pulling you from the field, permanently.”  
“Excuse me?” I push back from the table abruptly. “I’ve trained my whole life, literally, for this job! You can’t just take it away because people want to kill me. That’s not my fault!” I defend.  
“We recognize that. But we have to consider the safety of you and other agents.” Townsend explains, in an eerily calm voice.  
I shake my head in disbelief.  
“There is another alternative,”  
“What!?” I demand as I launch all my hopes on this elusive alternative solution.  
Townsend starts, “It involves a fishing metaphor, which I loathe, but,”  
I cut him off, “just tell me!”  
“In short, you’ll be used as bait. We’ll place you in an unsecured location and get the word out as surreptitiously as possible. Then we’ll wait for the threats to come to you.”  
I fall back against the back of my chair as I absorb this alternative which sounds marginally better than final exams week at the Gallagher Academy, “I’ll do it.”  
Townsend nods with a knowing smile as he slaps my file shut, somehow standing up from the table without his chair making a sound on the concrete.  
“Is that it?” I call to his retreating figure.  
He turns around with a sigh, “That will be all for now, but Miss Morgan do heed the advice of your security detail until we put this operation in motion. Whether you are willing to accept it or not, you are very much in danger.”  
The door clicks behind him as I grip the table with white knuckles, wishing for some reprieve from this life of secrets and danger but recognizing that in the end I would always choose it over everything else.

I emerge from the interrogation room and grab my coat from an outstretched hand, not taking the time to register the face as I search the room for Zach.  
My search is interrupted by a familiar voice, “Really Chameleon, not even a hello from your old mate?”  
I whirl around, “Bex!”  
“Hey, Cammie!” She greets me as she wraps me in a typical too tight hug that threatens to crush my ribs.  
“When did you get here?” I ask as we break apart.  
“About 20 minutes ago, I left as soon as Grant called, we were supposed to meet at the airport.”  
“Ah, sorry about that. Have you already seen him?” I ask with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, a bit of my old high-school-self breaking through.  
“Yes, we’ve already connected,” Bex confirms with an uncharacteristic blush.  
Remembering my initial concern, “Have you seen Zach?”  
“No, Grant said it shouldn’t be much longer though.”  
I nod and wrap my hands tightly around my coat, anxious feelings rising up again, “They want to set me up as bait.”  
Bex’s face fills with concern, “Do you really think that’s the best idea?”  
“It feels like the best option, I don’t want to work a desk for the rest of my life. I’m only 25, it’s too soon to be considering retirement or teaching.” I explain with a shrug of my shoulders.  
Bex nods stoically and wraps an arm around my shoulders as she leads me deeper into the belly of the substation, “Come on, I know where they keep the good coffee.”


	4. Chapter 4

I lay my head on his shoulder as a headache weaves itself through my head, sharp squiggles of pain piercing my temples in a steady rhythm, my eyes pulsing to the same beat. It may be from lack of sleep, a long plane ride, sitting in a cold, metal chair for hours, or perhaps the impact of my head catching my fall as Grant tackled me to the ground. Whatever the culprit, this pain makes me want to close my eyes and forget this day, collapse into the strength of this shoulder if only for some brief reprieve from the reality that awaits me at the cabin in the woods. As these thoughts charge through my head I realize that Zach didn’t open his arms to wrap me in his embrace, like he usually does after a long day. I try to push away this thought and instead just rest but I couldn’t help but feel ignored and unnoticed.  
“Zach?” I attempt to grab his attention as I heave my weighty head off his shoulder.   
“Hmm?” he answers distractedly.  
“Everything okay?”  
He nods as he keeps his gaze fixed out the window and the passing scenery, “Yeah.”  
I push, “Can I get more than a one-word answer? You’ve been quiet since we left the substation.”  
“Cammie, it’s nothing, I’m just tired.” He defends still not looking at me.  
“I’ve seen you tired, this isn’t tired Zach, this is,” I pause as I search for the appropriate adjective, “pissed-off Zach. What gives?”  
At this, he turns to face me his face contorted in anger, “Why did you agree to Operation Fishing Line?”  
“Is that seriously what they’re calling it? That’s ridiculous.” I laugh, but quickly cover my mouth as I watch Zach’s seething form. “Look, I’m not ready to retire to a desk, plus it can’t be more dangerous than my high school days.”  
Zach scrubs a hand down his face, squeezing his eyes shut briefly as if he’s dealing with an impossible toddler, “I just wanted a chance to discuss it with you. I hate it when you go off and make a rash decision without consulting me.”  
“It wasn’t a rash decision!” I defend, raising my voice, “In fact your own father suggested it.”  
“Yeah, and my father is known for his kind and caring sensibility,” Zach mutters.  
“Zach, please, I did this for us, I want to keep working together and that won’t be possible if I’m chained to a desk.” I pause and let the silence settle over us for a moment giving us each some time to compose ourselves.  
I break the silence with an apology, “Also, I’m sorry for not talking to you first. Next time, I’m deciding whether I’ll be an open target for the various terrorist organizations after me I’ll be sure to pull you into the conversation. Deal?”  
Zach cracks a small smile at this concession then leans down to kiss me, my favorite kind of apology fills my mouth and despite all these years together it still manages to send shivers down my spine.  
Jonas and Zach grab my upper-arms as they practically carry me into the house, well calling it a house is probably a bit too generous, a shack would be a more appropriate title. The boys drop me in a chair then rush around the shack flipping deadbolts, locking windows, and pulling blinds, making it a very secure shack. I sigh as the relative darkness settles around me, save for a kerosene lamp that casts shadows around the room.  
Without turning around, I greet the dark form sitting behind me, “It’s nice of you to join us, Mr. Solomon.”  
“Well, it is my safehouse, Ms. Morgan.” He replies with a smile I hear in the way he says my name.  
As I make a move to turn around a sharp pain runs explodes in my head causing me to drop my head into my hands and cry out.  
Zach rushes over to me, “What’s wrong Cammie?”  
I can’t reply as a wave of nausea overcomes me and retch onto the floor between my feet, Zach moves just in time to avoid what was left of my breakfast.  
Zach looks over at Mr. Solomon, “I’m pretty sure she has a concussion.”  
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, “You think? It couldn’t be from Grant hurtling me to the ground earlier today?” I question facetiously.  
Zach gives me a sympathetic smile as he carefully crouches in front of me and pushes my hair out of my face, offers me a glass of water, then dabs at my mouth and nose with the wet cloth Mr. Solomon hands him, “Let’s get you to bed Gallagher Girl.”  
I nod, but quickly regret it as I wince at the movement.  
“Easy there,” Zach admonishes as he gently pulls me out of the chair and walks with me over to one of the lower bunks attached to the wall and eases me into it.  
He plants a kiss on my forehead, “Sweet dreams, see you in two hours.”  
I groan as I recall the protocol for monitoring a concussion.  
As Zach turns away I grab his hand, “Wait there’s no chance there is a string of Christmas lights somewhere around here?”  
Zach looks around, catches Mr. Solomon’s gaze, then lets out a laugh, “You really think Joe keeps twinkle lights as part of his emergency preparedness kit.”  
“I know, I kind of just wanted to see what you would say, sometimes you’re nicer to me when I’m injured.”  
Zach smirks, “Good night, Gallagher Girl.”  
“Good night” I reply as I gingerly turn myself onto my side and curl up into a ball.


	5. Chapter 5

I shake my head, wincing at the headache that still pulses at my temples, as I take in the simplicity of the blueprint laid out across Mr. Solomon’s oak table, “This is the best we can come up with? I’m tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse while the rest of you lurk in the shadows?” I attempt to lock eyes with Zach, but he averts my gaze.  
Mr. Solomon, “Well Ms. Morgan, this is the work of Agent Townsend, so perhaps keep that in mind when judging the merits of the operation.”  
Zach rolls his eyes and lets out a small chuckle at Mr. Solomon’s disdain for his father.  
I smile briefly before reaffixing my scowl as I read through the plans.  
My mom takes this moment to chime in, “Why don’t we give this a rest? Dinner is almost ready. Zach put this on the table and Cammie fold up those plans.” She requests as she hands Zach a steaming dish of stuffing. Zach dutifully accepts her offering.  
I am less dutiful as I reply, “Mom, I think your, erm, ‘Christmas Dinner’ can wait. I wouldn’t want to be poisoned before the big day of playing bait to a bunch of mercenaries.”  
“Very funny Cammie. Now, clear off the table.”  
I nod, wincing at the movement, as my mom continues, “You’ll be happy to know I’m only warming all this food up, no actual cooking required.”  
I smile at her as I move the plans onto one of Mr. Solomon’s bookshelves.  
Dinner commences with little fanfare as the four of us sit around a kerosene lamp lit table, passing food around, Zach regaling my mom and stepfather with tales of him saving my butt on missions and me interjecting to note the times I saved his butt. My mom smiles warmly at me then squeeze’s my favorite teacher’s hand as Zach starts another story and for a moment I cannot fathom the reality of this moment.   
For the first time in a long time, I’m not dwelling on the absence of a person at this table or eating microwaved turkey, or sitting at a table full of strangers on my grandparent’s ranch. Instead, I’m surrounded by people I know and who know me, and let me tell you there is a big difference between microwaved turkey and oven-warmed turkey. So, in spite of our safe-house setting, I take a deep breath and attempt to soak in this moment of peace and acceptance as Mr. Solomon throws his head back with a laugh at my mother’s memories of the inseparable Blackthorne boys and I lean my still-throbbing head on Zach’s shoulder as I feel a warm smile filling my own face. We stay there the rest of the night, Zach’s arm around me as we sip at wine and shadows dance across the log-lined walls. I guess this is the comfort and joy all those Christmas Carols have been promising, for the first time, I actually believe them.


End file.
